


Little Oblivions

by boononjie



Category: SEVENTEEN - Fandom
Genre: Chwe Hansol | Vernon-centric, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-09-03 20:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boononjie/pseuds/boononjie
Summary: Chwe Hansol falls in love in the middle of being lost in life.





	1. Of Chwe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Vernon-centric fic, first and foremost, so if it's too much in Hansol's head, you have been warned. 
> 
> More relationships will be added.

_“Remember me_  
_ Fresh out a black and white movie, movie_  
_ On every screen”_

Some stories do not make it into movies. It’s not because they were boring or so devoid of twists or lack flavor, after all, some slice of life stories do make it onto the silver screen. Most of the time, it’s because the stories are too complex for the screen and condensing them into a couple of hours content is taking away their identity, their charm, and their meaning.

Hansol thinks his life should be a movie. There have been a few times he can recognize as twists and would probably leave the audience gobsmacked and he’s positive that his life has no meaning beyond being an entertainment fodder for whoever is watching him down here. His life is such a movie, a collection of highlights that unfolds over simplistically and he’s pretty sure the only proof he’s not in a movie is the fact that he doesn’t get paid to act out this unfortunate role.

At least, Hansol thinks as he wakes up from his tea induced trance, I’m not dead yet. Hansol looks around his surroundings, waiting in line to process his clearance for his brand new job, and sighs. It’s going to be a long and hot wait for him.

* * *

If Hansol's life was a movie, the opening scene would be a close up of half eaten japchae on a square plate. He was 5 years old and it was his Pa’s turn to cook that night. He’s eating the japchae on the dinner table tonight, and he hates it because he should be enjoying this japchae in front of the TV and watching Looney Tunes with Hangyeol not enduring the hard stare that his father levels at him. He sighs, lays down his chopsticks.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he says dejectedly as he pushes away the plate from him. “Can I go play?”

“Hansol,” his mother starts, “Finish your food,” she says with a pleading note in her voice as she touches his father’s hand.

“I don’t want to,” Hansol insists. “And it’s Vernon!” he says looking away from his mother.

His father sets down his chopsticks with a quiet finality. “Hansol, do you understand why you aren’t allowed to eat in front of the TV with Hangyeol tonight?”

Hansol sinks down in his chair and pouts, resolutely avoiding looking at his father.

“I know your favorite is japchae,” his father continues. “And I made this for you tonight, even if you haven’t been eating the lunch we prepare for you in school.”

Hansol straightens up. So he’s been caught, he thinks.

“The aide called us today,” his mother begins. “She said she found you throwing away your food in the toilets.”

Hansol doesn’t say a word. He goes back to a slumped sit.

“Why haven’t you been eating at school Hansol?” his father asks. “you will get sick if you don’t eat your lunch.”

“You’re a growing boy, you need all the food you can get,” his mother interjects softly.

But the tenderness gets lost on Hansol because they don’t understand. “I don’t want Korean food at school!” he exclaims, pushing his chair back and jumping out of his seat to make his way to his room. His parents do not stop him, he's still a kid, they silently communicate to each other. He'll understand when he is older, their eyes promising each other as they hold hands on the dinner table.

* * *

A few weeks after the japchae fiasco and it is but a bleep on Hansol's mind. There’s a noticeable lack of Korean snacks at school in the past few weeks, and his pa seems to be cooking less dinners nowadays. Hansol doesn’t understand why, but he doesn’t really bother to ask. The kids at school finally stopped pinching their noses and stopped fanning their faces at lunch since the Korean snacks stopped, so all in all, it was a good thing for him.

“I’m home,” he calls out as he removes his trainers in the hallway and brings them to a show cabinet near the stairs. He narrowly avoids Hangyeol barreling down the stairs but he is unlucky as pellets rain down on him.

“Oppa michyeo!” Hangyeol hollers as she shoots more pellets in his direction while she runs to the kitchen. Hansol is incensed, no one calls him crazy and gets away with it. He is hot at her heels when he skids to a stop, taking in the state of the dining table. There is a spread of Korean food on the table. Hansol’s eyes light up when he spots the electric plate on the table and the massive pile of meat slices next to it. He forgets about getting revenge on Hangyeol and eagerly pulls up a chair next to his pa. He always sits next to pa when grilling is involved because there was no way he would let Sof get the best slices. Hangyeol settles down next to his mother and the toy gun is left forgotten on the kitchen counter.

There is japchae, kimchi jiggae, bulgogi and black bean noodles on the table and Hansol is giddy. It’s been a long time since they had a Korean feast at home and despite not wanting Korean food in school, he still misses all the spices. He looks at his Father and wonders. “Why did you cook pa?”

His father smiles widely at them. “I got the project in Seoul!”

Later that night, Hansol is much too excited, he can barely sleep. In 5 hours, they will be driving off to the airport and going to Korea. Korea! His 5 year old brain couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that they will be leaving new York and start living in Seoul. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the boroughs of new York, but Korea, Korea is another great adventure.

* * *

Another great adventure, my ass, Hansol thinks as he crumples the paper cup that previously held his tea. He throws it away, not really caring where it goes.

“Hey! Did your mother not teach you manners?” someone calls at Hansol as soon as the paper cup lands a few feet away from him. Hansol turns around to find a boy his age sneering at him. Hansol raises and eyebrow and scrunches up his mouth.

“Pick that up!” the guy yelps advancing towards Hansol and pointing at the cup.

Hansol scoffs and moves to pick up the discarded cup, but he stops when he hears the guy tutting. He is on an abnormally short string today and pastel-pant wearing judgmental and self righteous, Kirby looking people should seriously step off.

“What the fuck man?” he grits out. “I’m already picking it up, he scowls as he picks up the cup and crumples it more into a ball before stuffing it into the pocket of his black joggers.

“Damn right, should have done that from the start,” Kirby man says. He turns around and mutters about city bumpkins and Hansol has half a mind to ask him what the fuck did he say, but he takes a deep breath instead and focuses on the weight of the balled-up paper cup in his pocket. 

Hansol watches Kirby walk away without a care in the world, as if publicly calling out people is an acceptable social norm. Whatever, he thinks derisively. Some people are just the definition of icing on the cake.

* * *

When Hansol was 6 and had a strongly accented Korean, he realized that it wasn’t his packed snacks that made kids talk around him. It couldn’t be, after all, his snack bag contains the same kimbap rolls everyone has save for the Chips Ahoy cookie that he gets from his sweet ma as dessert. Back in New York, he would have had other kids trade his cookie for other sweets, it depends on which kid got bored of their own desert. But in Seoul, no one trades his cookies with him, and don’t get Hansol wrong, he does love chocolate chip, but sometimes he wonders about the banana milk that his classmates drink in one go.

One day he asks his Pa for the banana milk, and the moment the question gets out, Hansol is rewarded with a big grin from his Pa. He brings the chilled banana milk to class the next day and he feels just a little bit prouder of himself.

During recess, his classmates spot the banana milk. A tall girl eyes his banana milk and Hansol wonders what is wrong.

“Oh? Got tired of your cookie?” the same girl asks.

Hansol nods, a bit uncomfortable with using his Korean words in front of people who had 6 years experience of speaking Korean straight.

“Figures,” the girl starts. “My omma says cookies are bad for you and that’s why Americans are fat because they only know cookies for food.”

Hansol is confused because he never knew that. “That’s not true!” he defends his favorite dessert.

“It is weird,” another boy says and Hansol finds himself the center of the class during recess with banana milk unopened in his hand. “You only got the milk because we all had it.”

Hansol is shaking, “That’s not true!” He is ready to tell them that he wants to know how the banana milk tastes like when the same girl swipes the bottle from his hand.

“I’ll give you my choco milk for this, besides you won’t like banana milk anyway, it’s Korean only,” she says as she turns her back on him. Hansol wants to take the bottle back again, maybe pull the naughty girl's hair as well but his pa told him he can’t hit people when he’s mad. He wants to shout at them to give his bottle back, but he doesn’t because he’s not too sure how to say it without sounding so much like a weirdo. Instead, he hangs his head as he sullenly accepts the swapped chocolate milk.

“That’s right, that’s an American drink, it goes well with your cookies,” the boy from before says and from that day on Hansol doesn’t bother to learn the names of his classmates.

* * *

Hansol enters his apartment quietly. It’s one of those days, he thinks, as he carelessly removes his rubber shoes and stows them on the rack. He locks the door behind him and slips on the worn Pororo slippers that his sister gave him. He flips the light switch on and his small studio is flooded in warm, yellow light. For a moment, he is surprise to see his studio clean, then he remembers that his mom came over earlier when he was out to make sure he didn’t drown in mountains of papers and die of starvation.

He walks toward the empty table and sits down, cross legged on the chair as he rings up his mother. He puts down the phone on the table and puts it on speaker; small trills fill his apartment as he waits for her to pick up.

“Oh Sol.” he hears his mother, all static and wind.

“Are you out, ma?”

“Yeah, with your father,” his mother says. “You’re on speaker phone.”

“Hello Sol,” his father chimes in. “How was your clearance? Did you get the papers you needed?”

“Yeah,” Hansol starts as he cradles his head on his hands, staring tiredly at the screen. “It took so long though. I never want to do that again.”

His parents chuckle and he can hear the indicators turn on he wonders briefly where his parents could be going now.

“Sorry, Sol, but you’re gonna have to do that every time you get a new job,” his mother replies.

“That’s fucked,” he mutters, already dreading the queue for documents he’s yet to require for the future. His parents laugh again and he pouts.

“Welcome to being an adult with responsibilities,” his father jokes. “That’s what you get for going the professional route.”

Hansol snickers in response. “Yeah, yeah, should have been an artist like you two so I can just chug out projects and get paid in advance.”

“That’s right,” his mother laughingly says. “I’m sure there will be people who would buy your abstract art, Sollie.”

“Oh mom, you’re the worst!” he whines and he can hear his father guffaw in the background, and for a moment he misses them. “Where are you guys going tonight? Date night without the little she devil?”

“Sollie, don’t call Sof that!” his mother admonishes him lightly, but Hansol knows that they do not take him seriously. “She’s sleeping over at Choonhee’s house, so we took advantage.”

“I’m taking your mother out to this new restaurant-library thing,” his father says, and immediately Hansol imagines them having dinner in sweats surrounded by books and stiff waiters. “We heard it has open-mic nights and there’s some spoken word artists there. Might give us some inspiration for our projects you know.”

“Oh, that sounds cool,” Hansol hums in response. “If the food is nice, I’ll take you there on my first paycheck!”

“That’s a deal then, Sol,” his mother answers. “Get ready to pay for four, because I’ve seen the reviews for this place and they said the food is as good as the artists there.”

“Four?! Who says I gotta pay for four?!” Hansol interjects.

“Four, including Sof,” his father responds.

“I’m not paying for her food!” Hansol petulantly says, half joking and half serious.

“Sollie, really,” his father says disapprovingly but Hansol can hear a hint of smile in his voice.

“Fine, fine, but this is the only time I’m feeding her on my paycheck!” he shots back playfully at them. Before they can give him a tiny lecture on being a responsible, older brother, he continues. “Anyways, thanks Ma for coming over, it’s been a weird few days.”

“Oh Sollie, you know it’s nothing,” his mother says dismissively. “I’ll visit you again when you’re in there so I can finally teach you to cook beef bourguignon.”

“Yum! Ok, I’ll make sure I sort everything out first, I don’t even think I have enough things to do an egg fry.”

“Alright, Sollie, we’re nearing the restaurant,” his father says. “Give me a list of things you still need and we’ll head over to the market this weekend before checking in on you, ok?”

“Ok, dad. Have fun you guys, love you and good night. Text me when you’re home?” Hansol responds.

“Love you too, Sollie, don’t forget to lock your doors,” his mother reminds him.

“I already did, Ma.”

“Love you too Sol, we’ll text you when we get home, don’t worry about us!” his father

“Ok, Dad, love you, bye!” Hansol says. “Hang up!”

The call disconnects and Hansol suddenly feels bone-tired. He turns over the phone on his table and pads to the small refrigerator and opens it. The refrigerator is full and once again he is surprised and he wonders if his parents realizes that he misses them as much as they apparently miss him. There’s a huge tub of kimchi in the crisper, a clear tub of beef bourguignon, two bowls of japchae, and a bucket of cold noodles, and Hansol realizes that these are all his favorite foods, and it’d probably last him for the whole week if Jihoon doesn’t find out about all these. Hansol thinks it should be fine though, after all it's been months since he and Jihoon have even seen each other, it's highly unlikely that Jihoon would be pulled out from his little universe with just the promise of food.

His stomach grumbles a bit and he carefully takes out the beef bourguignon, getting a cup’s worth of the dish and putting it inside the microwave. He checks his rice cooker and he is relieved that his early morning self did not decide to take too much rice because that means he doesn’t have to cook again.

The microwave beeps, and as the smell of the dish permeates the air, he is reminded of dinners at home. He hisses as he takes the hot cup out of the microwave, and notes that he should include mittens in his list of things to buy. He then brings out the remaining rice and as he gets his chopsticks ready, Hansol closes his eyes and says a little prayer of thanks and his heart feels just a bit lighter because he can almost taste his parents’ cooking.

* * *

It’s four in the morning when Hansol gets woken up by deep vibrating sounds and he realizes that he’s left his phone on the table. He thinks of letting it buzz off until it runs out of charge, figuring that the vibration maybe a low-battery warning, but the buzzing is incessant and he really just wants to sleep more, so he takes off his eye mask and gets up to the table.

The bright light of his phone screen wakes him up a bit and he realizes that some unknown number is calling him.

“Hello?” he murmurs sleepily into the phone as he scratches his nape.

“Hansol Vernon Chwe?” there’s a deep voice on the other side and if Hansol is more awake, he’d be creeped out by the fact that this guy knows his full name, and is calling him at the crack of dawn.

“Yeah?”

“This is Kim Sanghun from the Itaewon police office. I am calling to inform you that your parents have been in a car accident and, we need you to come down here to identify the bodies.”

* * *

Hansol feels like he is underwater. He has no idea what time it is and how he made it to the station, and yet here he is, clutching another cup of tepid tea, walking along the not so busy hallways of the station.

He has voluntarily left the holding morgue of the station after catching a glimpse of the blanketed bodies, he didn’t even bother checking for identity. Just the thought of it becoming a possibility is enough to make him hurl.

His limbs feel heavy and he is surprised at the capacity of his body walking towards the office where he was supposed to wait for his aunt and uncle. He barely registers a hand on his shoulder and again he is confused as to why he’s suddenly sitting down.

“Son,” a small and stern looking police officer says as he gently shakes Hansol awake from his reverie.

Hansol looks up, his eyes are unseeing, and yet, everything around him seems to be tinged in blue and he wonders if it’s due to the uniforms of the police officers, or the LED lights around the station or maybe a combination of both.

“Yes?” he croaks weakly.

“We apologise for calling you here,” the officer starts. “Technically, since you are at the age of majority, you are qualified to be an emergency contact, but I understand that you’ll need your other relatives here. We’ve taken the liberty of calling your father’s brother, the ETA for your relatives is 10 minutes. You could wait here for now. Is there anyone else you’d like to call?”

Hansol nods softly, he has been moving as if he was stuck in tar for the past few hours and calling Hangyeol has slipped his mind.

“Can I call my sister?” he asks.

The officer nods in response and gestures to a telephone on one of the desks inside the bullpen. Hansol gets up and drags his feet while walking. He is almost at the desk when he realizes that he doesn’t want to call Hangyeol. He turns around, eyes searching for a wall clock. It is 5:30 in the morning, and suddenly he feels as if his energy is being recharged. He doesn’t bother to say goodbye to the officer as he bolts out of the bullpen, past all the bewildered police officers and almost bumping into his aunt and uncle. He only has one thing in mind and that is to get to Hangyeol, and all Hansol knows is that she doesn’t deserve to find things out in a phone call as he furiously flags a cab.

* * *

It’s been a month since Hansol’s parents passed in that car accident and Hansol has pretty much sworn off getting inside any sort of car. He is walking to his studio apartment, carrying groceries that would last until Hangyeol goes back to school. Hangyeol has been staying with him for the past month, with his aunt and uncle dropping in every few days to check on them. They originally wanted them to stay in Itaewon, but Hansol refused. He doesn’t think he can bare the sight of their house just a few minutes’ walk from his uncle’s residence. He’d rather stay here, in the small studio, and pretend as if his parents are just out of the country. It does not surprise him that Hangyeol also insisted on staying with him instead of living with their relatives.

Hangyeol has been staying with him since that night, and since it was time for her to go back to school in a week, Hansol is divided on where she should be staying while studying. A studio apartment in Gangnam is not too far from her school back in Itaewon, but Hansol believes it’s too far for a high-schooler who has to worry about university exam preparations to consider a 3-hr two-way commute daily, but sending her away to their relatives feels a lot like betrayal and failure wrapped into one.

Hansol is so caught up in his thoughts of how he should break the possibility of Hangyeol living apart from him, when he bumps into someone as he turns the corner leading to the hike up to his flat. His heavy grocery bags, thankfully, do not drop onto the pavement. He looks at the person who bumps into him, and it is none other than one of his closest and oldest friends.

“Hansol?” the guy, clad in an oversized black shirt with matching cap and face mask, greets Hansol as he nears.

“Hyung,” Hansol acknowledges, shifting his bags a bit so he can attempt to hug his friend.

“Ah, let me take that,” he says, fishing out one of the grocery bags from Hansol. With one hand free, Hansol manages to give him half a hug. The guy pulls Hansol closer and gives him a proper hug, patting on Hansol’s back comfortingly and Hansol is resolutely trying his best not to give into the urge to cry. “It’s alright, Hansol, Jihoon hyung is here for you.”

* * *

Hansol meets Jihoon when he was 15 in an exclusive after school club. Well, for Hansol, it could technically be called as just a club since he wasn’t under any formal schooling. It was one of those clubs that parents make for their kids who have similar interests and get some sort of education or training for them to hone whatever talents they have. It was due to his dad that Hansol finds himself currently twiddling his thumbs behind his back in front of a small, poorly lit room filled with various musical instruments.

“Guys, guys,” the teacher calls, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “We have a new member of the club.”

The teacher, a guy called Tablo, pushes Hansol in front of the small group of 5 that are sitting in various chairs and gestures for him to introduce himself. “Come on, tell us your name, what grade you’re in, if there’s any instruments you play, and what music recommendation you have for us tonight.”

Hansol steps up and clears his throat. He hasn’t been in a setting like this for almost 2 years, but his parents insisted that joining a club would help him develop his social skills more and besides, wasn’t he tired of spending the days on his own and just have his cousins for company?

“Hi, I am Chwe Hansol. I am doing my 8th grade now,” he starts, looking at a blank spot on the wall behind the heads of the 5 kids. “I play the guitar, but I’m not an advanced player, intermediate maybe?”

“That’s alright,” Tablo interjects cheerfully and encourages him to continue.

Hansol nods and continues. “My music recommendation for tonight is, Power Trip by J.Cole and Miguel.”

The kids around him oohed at his recommendation and for a second, he thought they were about to laugh at him and he can feel himself shrink a bit.

“That’s something new,” Tablo comments as he places an arm around Hansol’s shoulder. “We don’t have much English song recommendations here.”

Hansol only shrugs.

“Well kids, you think we can work on analyzing Hansol’s recommendation tonight?” Tablo asks. There’s a chorus of excited yeses and Hansol feels a bit lighter at his song recommendation being acknowledged. Tablo smiles at him encouragingly. “Then Hansol, put your mp3 on the speaker and partner up with Jihoon.”

A small guy with black fine hair falling across his eyes, gives a slight wave and a tight-lipped smile at him and Hansol, for the life of him, doesn’t know just how this Jihoon guy would change his life forever.

* * *

When Hansol was 17 and Jihoon was 19, Hansol suddenly realizes that he finally understands the concept of love. He’s looking at Jihoon who was biting his thumb, chewing on a sequence of beats that they can use and Hansol thinks he’s never gonna know someone as dedicated and as passionate as Jihoon. Jihoon, whose life seems to revolve around the music club and would never hesitate calling Hansol while he’s composing, just looks so stunning to Hansol in this moment.

Hansol feels like there’s a drought in his throat whenever his gaze falls on Jihoon who has now closed his eyes and seemed to be in deep thought. Jihoon’s hair is now a faint pink and even though Hansol knows how much Jihoon hates being associated with the concept of cuteness, Hansol can’t help but think he is too adorable for words.

“Hyung,” Hansol says, leaning forward a bit so he can poke Jihoon’s cheeks. He pokes it a few times more before deciding to just let his finger linger on Jihoon’s cheeks for a bit more.

Jihoon’s eyes open quickly and immediately turn to Hansol. He narrows his eyes at Hansol and glares at the finger that is immobile on his cheeks. Hansol gives him a cheeky grin and doesn’t budge a bit. “What?” Jihoon snaps lightly, choosing to move away from Hansol instead.

Hansol guffaws in response and Jihoon wrinkles his nose at him in annoyance. “Nothing, I just thought you were falling asleep.”

“You punk,” Jihoon sniffs at him, turning around to face the deck and proceeding to press random buttons repeatedly, and at this, Hansol knows he’s lost Jihoon to testing out his beats.

Hansol stands up and hovers a bit behind Jihoon’s shoulder, taking a look at the sequence displayed on Jihoon’s monitor. “Who is this for?”

“For Ara noona,” Jihoon hums in response.

Hansol racks his brain for a reason why Ara noona, one of the frequent guests and juniors of Tablo in their little music club, would need some beats from Woozi, when Tablo could easily make music for her. “Oh what does she need it for?”

“She was singing something a few days ago,” Jihoon starts, turning to face Hansol. “I heard it and just got inspired to play around with it. Would you like to hear her part?”

Hansol nods and Jihoon immediately pulls a chair for him. When he sits down, Jihoon takes off his headset and places it on his head instead. Jihoon presses the play button, and a slow tune with soft guitar plucking and high piano keys fill his ears and Ara noona starts singing.

> _On a hot night,_ _I can’t fall asleep,_
> 
> _Thinking about this and that, _ _I finally call you,_
> 
> _I didn’t know you’d come out._

And then it cuts off, and Hansol didn’t realise he has closed his eyes, bopping to the brief stanza. “She’s so good,” Hansol says, grinning at Jihoon.

“I know right?” Jihoon acknowledges. “I felt like I wanted to do something with it, so I asked her if I can do an arrangement.”

“Yeah, so far, so great!” Hansol encourages. “This what you’ve been locking up for?”

Jihoon laughs at him in response. “Yeah, so far for the past week, I have made the beat for the stanzas and even the bridge, but I’m getting stuck with the words.”

“Oh? It’s the first time I ever hear you being stuck?” Hansol queries. He knows Jihoon when he’s struck with inspiration. Jihoon is relentless and unceasing when he’s in the mood to write a song. Sometimes, Hansol would tease him that his first priority would always be his words and beats and Jihoon would scoff at him and Hansol doesn’t mind. Because in Hansol’s brain, it is when Jihoon is in his element that he appears perfect. Forehead knotted in frustration timing out beats, or furiously erasing lyrics, or counting syllables on his fingers, Hansol just loves it when he sees Jihoon so immersed in what he loves. It’s like when he was a kid, and he would see his parents work tirelessly on their commissions, and in between the frustrations that his mom or dad would experience, they’d shoot each other short, meaningful smiles, and suddenly Hansol witnesses them become reenergized and it’s like their work and their smiles reserved for each other illuminate their faces.

Jihoon only sighs, shoulders slumping and suddenly, his entire demeanor feels heavy and Hansol feels suffocated for him. It’s not the first time Jihoon has struggled with writing songs, but Hansol, being the person who is almost always with Jihoon when he writes, is ever so sensitive to Jihoon’s moods.

“It’s difficult,” Jihoon explains. “It’s a summer love song, but my thoughts don’t match to the mood. I can’t find the words.”

“Hmm,” Hansol starts. “Maybe you’re just thinking too seriously? And you need a light hand on it? Like, you do know you have this intensity with your lyrics, so that’s why it’s not matching?”

“Yeah, I definitely have that problem,” Jihoon says. “I can’t tone it down.”

“I can help you,” Hansol offers with a shrug. “I’ll lighten it right up.”

Jihoon shakes his head at him with a snort. “Right, sure, help me Hansol. Let’s see what a 17-year-old you have to say about falling in love.”

Hansol narrows his eyes at Jihoon. “That’s so age-ist! I do know some things about love. It’s not all just music in my head! And should you be really saying that to someone who’s offering you help and about to invite you to dinner to that new restaurant that opened?” Hansol asks, eyebrow rising, daring Jihoon to contradict him.

Jihoon only chuckles at him but he does push himself off his chair and stands up. “Right, right, let’s go eat then! It’s your treat right? You know how hyung has been so hard-working, and good dongsaengs always take care of their hyung!” he says teasingly as he takes his jacket off the back of the chair.

Hansol could only roll his eyes at Jihoon. Nevertheless, he takes Jihoon’s hand and pulls him out of the Tablo’s studio. Jihoon doesn’t pull away, but instead huddles closer to him as they walk outside into the cold streets of Seoul, in search for that famous fried chicken chain that just opened nearby.

* * *

Hansol and Jihoon are walking in the cold streets of Seoul, each with a black plastic bag in their hands. Hansol briefly remembers a similar scene, years ago, maybe three or four years back. He doesn’t speak much, afraid that if he breaks the silence, he’d never be able to shut up, so he just listens to their rhythmic footsteps and focuses on getting home to a waiting Hangyeol.

Jihoon clears his throat.

“How are you, Sol?” Jihoon asks, his question muffled by his mask, but Hansol hears it clearly.

Hansol feels a lump in his throat, and he swallows to force it down so he can answer. “Fine.”

“Ah,” Jihoon hums, poised to admit something to Hansol.

“Yep,” Hansol cuts him off before Jihoon can start. “Sof’s with me, but she’s gonna move out this weekend. School’s starting you know, and I don’t want her commuting too much, so she should move back to Itaewon with our cousins.”

“I see,” Jihoon replies, accepting the interruption. “Is this the menu for the rest of the week then?” he asks as he shakes the bag.

Hansol nods. “Yeah should be enough. You’re having dinner with us, hyung. Sof hasn’t seen you in a while.”

“Of course,” Jihoon accepts the invitation, thinking it’s the least he could do. He steals a glance at Hansol, and he can see Hansol looking straight ahead, his side profile illuminated by the soft orange glow of the incandescent streetlights. Hansol’s lips are drawn straight, and despite his rigid posture, his forehead and brows are relaxed. It’s the most fake Jihoon has ever seen Hansol been. He’s known Hansol since he was 17, and now that he’s 23, he can tell when Hansol pretends not to be falling apart. Jihoon can admit that his heart breaks for him a little.

Jihoon lowers his mask down to his chin and if Hansol caught the movement, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m sorry, Sol. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you during the funeral,” Jihoon starts, and finally that gets something out of Hansol, because Hansol pauses half-stride and turns to him. Jihoon also stops, and they’re in the middle of an empty uphill street just staring at each other.

Hansol looks at Jihoon softly, and Jihoon feels guilty because he doesn’t deserve Hansol’s fondness. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Hansol says, eyes wide, because he’s surprised that he is hearing an apology from Jihoon of all people. Jihoon who has always been there for him, and maybe yeah, Jihoon was not physically there during the funeral, but Hansol knows that the calls and messages that flew between them during his grieving is enough for him.

“I should have been there,” Jihoon says resolutely. He feels rotten, he wants to ask Hansol what sort of best friend is he? What sort of friend could be so unreliable that he would put his music first before helping an important person in his life grieve? And, there’s a small part of him that wonders if he would seek out Hansol to apologize like this if he hadn’t bumped into him today.

“It’s ok,” Hansol insists. And honestly, it is fine for him, he doesn’t understand why Jihoon looks visibly upset. “Don’t think too much about it, hyung. I’m managing.”

“It’s not ok,” Jihoon replies. “It’s a hyung’s responsibility to take care of their donsaeng.” More than that, he thinks it’s his responsibility to look out for his best friend. He pulls on Hansol’s hand and grips it tightly. “Let me help you, we’ve been friends for years Hansol. You shouldn’t be lying to me like this.”

Hansol stares at Jihoon blankly, and with a miniscule shake of his head, he turns away from Jihoon and mutters softly. “I know.”

Jihoon lets go of Hansol’s hand and knows he shouldn’t push. This is Hansol, he’s never good when he’s prodded, and whatever insecurity Jihoon has for the mistake he’s done, Hansol doesn’t deserve this pressure so he stops. He’s said what he’s wanted to say for days, and now it’s time for him to back up his promise to Hansol. He moves to take the other plastic bag from Hansol’s hand and at first, Hansol puts up a fight, but Jihoon is stronger than he looks and he’s successfully taken all of Hansol’s grocery bags from him.

“I got this,” Jihoon shoots him a rare grin and Hansol can’t help but return it with a small smile of his own. They walk towards the apartment complex that Hansol stays in, and it’s still a silent walk but for both of them, it feels less stilted than before.

“Come on!” Jihoon says, increasing his stride. Hansol looks at him, eyes in askance.

“Hangyeol must be hungry already!” Jihoon teasingly says, walking ahead of him. “We can’t make her wait too much for your slow ass.”

Hansol has to break out into grin as he watches Jihoon march determinedly, legs working fast. His mind suddenly drifts back to years ago when he first realized he loved his Jihoon hyung, nervousness of youth and memories of butterflies in his stomach surface like a ghost in his mind. This time though, the phantom butterflies don’t swim, and there was no anxiety. Before, Jihoon looked like he was illuminated with multiple lens flares, and now even if Jihoon is standing under streetlights and is still shining brightly, the sheen is gone, and Hansol is surprised to find himself glad about it. Maybe time tempered his feelings, because now, he can definitely say that while he still loves Jihoon hyung, he is not in love with him anymore. He’s never really examined his feelings for Jihoon with all that happened lately, but he feels an immediate release and intense relief.

“It’s better this way,” Hansol mumbles under his breath. He quickens his pace, intent on catching up, and decides to surprise Jihoon by jumping on his back. Jihoon gives out a startled yelp, but he adjusts and soon both of them are stumbling on their way home. 


	2. Of Lee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon and Hansol spend many nights together, watching fantasy movies and sometimes listening to music only to get in too deep in their discussions. Some of these nights are outlook-changing, and some mornings just force Hansol to confront his fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written with a playlist in mind, for the songs referenced in this chapter, you can check out this Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5wFmbDWzPELvI3EHGyt2ca?si=mTvCp0w6SSaP1NJ6-UHThw

> _What would you realize_
> 
> _What you meant to me, or was it mystery_

Ever since that fateful night of bumping into Hansol, Jihoon has taken it upon himself to become a better friend. He promised himself that he would be less of a shitty friend and hyung to Hansol and that meant being there for Hansol as often as possible. It may not seem like much to others, but for someone like him who thrives in solitude, spending quality time with Hansol instead of marinating in his bed or drowning himself in discarded sheet music is a sacrifice he would be willing to make.

While months of touch and go contact between them didn’t necessarily weaken their friendship, Jihoon, who was too ashamed for not making an effort readily admits to being worried by the thought of spending time together again. He is plagued with thoughts of awkwardness, assuming that once he starts showing up for Hansol again, there would be so much uncomfortable silence to fill.

It turns out though, that Jihoon's worries were unfounded, because this is still Hansol and he is still Jihoon. They’ve both gone through the awkward teenager phase together when they were dumb kids. Their situation now is different, they’re awkward adults, yes, but Jihoon thinks they’re a little less dumb now. And they are, a little less dumb now that is, because even though Hansol is clearly in the middle of processing both grief at his parents’ death, and guilt at making Hangyeol live separately from him as evidenced by Hansol's more reserved reactions, they fall into a comfortable pattern of being silly and deep reminiscent of their younger days.

It is a Friday night and Jihoon finds himself sat on Hansol’s bed, his laptop connected to the off-brand LCD tv screen that Hansol has. Hermione Granger is glaring furiously at Draco Malfoy for calling her a filthy, little mudblood and Hansol is laying across his bed with his head on Jihoon’s lap. Jihoon is carding his fingers through Hansol’s messy, black hair and his mind is blissfully empty. The only thing Jihoon senses is the feeling of soft locks in between his fingers, and dull English dialogue that Hansol is mouthing along to.

“It’s the fifteenth time I’ve seen this since I’ve known you,” Jihoon muses quietly.

Hansol hums and then turns away from the screen of the tv to eye Jihoon. “Are you complaining?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer, instead he takes his phone from Hansol’s bedside table and checks the time. It’s 10:30 pm, not too early and not too late. He puts it back on the table and shifts a bit, it’s only now that he notices the numbness spreading on his thigh where Hansol’s head was.

“You have a big head,” Jihoon complains, nudging Hansol’s head lower, nearer his knees so his blood can finally circulate under less pressure.

Hansol absolutely refuses to budge, Jihoon’s knees are hard and he doesn’t really want to lay on Jihoon’s legs.

“Move!” Jihoon snarls at Hansol, jerking his leg up so Hansol will be forced to move.

Hansol laughs but acquiesces. He sits up and cheekily invades Jihoon’s face. Jihoon’s face is so near, and from this distance Hansol can tell that Jihoon has aged. He’s looked at this face for years, and five years ago, there were no beginning of frown lines on his forehead, nor uneven sun spots, but now, Hansol can make out fine lines on Jihoon’s forehead. There were still no sun spots though, Hansol figures out it’s because Jihoon is rarely out in the sun.

If Jihoon was a lesser man, he’d have blushed at Hansol’s proximity, but he wasn’t a lesser man and he’s used to this silliness, there’s nothing more to Hansol’s staring and closeness. He rolls his eyes instead, feigning annoyance, and lightly pushes Hansol’s face away. “Go back to watching the movie.”

Hansol smiles at him, leaning towards him yet again and Jihoon can’t refrain himself from snapping when Hansol’s right hand comes up to reach at him. “What?!”

“I’m getting a pillow, you snarky house-elf,” Hansol snarks back, tongue poking out as he quickly reaches behind Jihoon to pull the two fluffy pillows that Jihoon has commandeered for back support.

“Hey, I need that for my back!” Jihoon sputters in protest.

Hansol tosses a less-than-fluffy pillow at him and just smirks as he watches Jihoon concede defeat and try his best to fluff up the old pillow so it can give minimal back support. As soon as Hansol sees that Jihoon is satisfied with the make-shift support, he puts his stolen two pillows on top of Jihoon’s outstretched legs and lands his head soundly on his new headrest.

“Ah!” Hansol sighs satisfied, eyes closing in bliss and glee at irritating Jihoon. He opens an eye and sneaks a look at Jihoon who had a displeased look on. “I love you, hyung!” Hansol chirps at him, smiling brightly before turning around to face the TV again.

Jihoon only shakes his head at Hansol, a smile on his lips as his hands fall gently in Hansol’s hair and he’s back to smoothing the curls of the younger boy.

* * *

They are four weeks into their new pattern of having Friday movie nights, where Jihoon comes over to Hansol’s studio with takeaway chicken and cola, when Hansol decides to change it up. Well, decides to change it up is not really it, Jihoon thinks as his eyes struggle to adjust in the darkness of the studio. Instead of having the usual fantasy movie marathon (it’s always a fantasy movie marathon between these two) where Hansol usually has his laptop set up to connect to the TV and the fantasy folder open on the screen, Jihoon is confronted with a scene of melancholy as he opens the door to Hansol’s flat with the spare key that he was given.

The warm, yellow light from the hallway does not help Jihoon see into the flat, but he can identify the blue lava lamp glowing softly in the nearest bed table. Hansol’s inherited white noise machine is on and somewhere, in the middle of the room, on Hansol’s bluetooth speaker, a piano tune plays and Khalid croons about angels. There on the bed, silhouetted by a sliver of moonlight and the eerie blue glow of the lamp, sat Hansol with his back against Jihoon. Hansol’s dark hair is mussed, as if it has been pulled at every direction and hasn’t been washed in days, his navy blue duvet wrapped around him loosely.

Jihoon removes his shoes, careful not to wake Hansol who seems to be in a trance. Jihoon quietly places the bag of chicken and cola on the kitchen counter, and Hansol must be way in too deep because he does not flinch even with the rustling of the plastic. Jihoon pads lightly towards Hansol, socked feet almost slipping on the dark tiles as the song changes to yet another soulful piano accompaniment for Khalid’s ode to roller coasters.

The bed dips as Jihoon climbs on, sitting himself beside Hansol, legs crossed and patiently waiting for Hansol’s acknowledgement. Hansol turns his face a bit and Jihoon finally sees his eyes, bright and yet at the same time so dim. Jihoon is just grateful that there was no trace of tearing up on Hansol’s face, so he smiles tentatively at him.

“You’re early, hyung,” Hansol says, eyebrows rising up a bit. “It’s only 8, I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

Jihoon’s tentative smile drops a bit as he stares at Hansol, wondering if this has been going on for a while now. In the past four weeks of checking in and hanging out with Hansol, Jihoon has never seen him this despondent. In his hunched up, seated position, Hansol looks a lot younger than the two years that separate them.

“I finished the song earlier than expected,” Jihoon answers offhandedly. Hansol nods his head thoughtfully and then faces away from Jihoon, choosing to look at the curtains instead.

A few beats pass, Jihoon feels immensely uncomfortable. He looks at the flimsy curtains and bites his lower lip. Khalid’s love letter to rollercoasters crescendos in the background and Jihoon wonders just what exactly is going on in Hansol’s head. He decides that tonight will not be the night he shies away from Hansol, so he clears his throat and places a light hand on Hansol’s right shoulder.

“Hansol,” Jihoon starts. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Hansol shakes his head and drops the comforter wrapped around him. He proceeds to dive back on his bed and stares at the ceiling instead. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to say to that.”

Jihoon nods as if he understands, but he knows he doesn’t.

“I miss them you know?” Hansol says, voice steady and unwavering. “Hangyeol misses them. I miss Hangyeol too. But I know myself, I know it won’t do me any good to insist on living with Hangyeol. Not right now, not when I’m still barely independent and I don’t know how everything works out.”

Jihoon hums and lays down next to Hansol on the bed. Hansol shifts a bit to give him some space. When Jihoon is fully settled into the bed, he turns his body around and faces Hansol. Hansol turns to face him and stares listlessly at his hyung. “Sol, you don’t have to know how everything works out.”

“That’s what my therapist said too,” Hansol says with a slight frown. “And I believe her. I know what she’s saying is true, and God knows that with all my experience with therapists and psychologists, that everything I’m worried about, everything I’m anxious about is just me and my overactive imagination. And I know that I can manage through this. I’ve done it before, and I was fine. But some days, hyung, I just want to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just me, and my thoughts, and Khalid and my comforter! I know I’m being dramatic right now, but I don’t think I can be up for Avengers right now, sorry hyung,” Hansol exclaims with a pout.

And at that Jihoon lets loose a loud laugh. Trust Hansol to be in his melodramatic mood and still be able to make light of his situation.

“Hyung!” Hansol squeaks affronted. “I’m being serious!”

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says laughingly. “I just, it’s so you to worry about others.”

“I can’t help it,” Vernon responds with a shrug.

“I know,” Jihoon acknowledges fondly. He raises his hands to cradle the back of his head and like Hansol, he stares at the ceiling with a slight smile. It seems that whatever Hansol emotional turmoil Hansol is currently going through right now have been momentarily displaced from the headspace.

The music changes from Khalid to a gospel like trill and suddenly Mariah Carey is singing about feeling emotions, Jihoon can hear Hansol hum along to her flow. A few seconds pass between them and Drake starts rapping over Mariah’s runs and Jihoon starts drumming to the beats of the song.

“This song is good,” Jihoon comments offhandedly. His side is suffused with Hansol’s body warmth and it makes him a bit sleepy especially with the melodic riffs in the background. Even if his English is not that great, he can sense confusion and insecurity oozing out of the lyrics and a part of him is thinking about using insecurity as a theme to his next song, but he wants to be sure so he asks Hansol instead. “The lyircs, is it about trust and being confused on who to trust?”

Hansol shifts on his side and turns his whole body to face Jihoon. He scrunches up his forehead a bit and a part of Jihoon is struck at how Hansol’s crumpled up, thinking face is still so striking even in the dim state of the room. Hansol pouts a bit and puts a finger to his chin and hums before responding.

“I think, it’s about him talking about a rumoured son that he has, and someone made a diss rap track on it,” Hansol starts slowly.

Jihoon’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Hansol says with a nod.

Jihoon elbows Hansol lightly as a sign for him to continue. “So?”

“Yeah, so, it basically started out as that, but the song explores the role of social media in his celebrity life, and how social media can be so fake. And you’re right hyung, he does speak about the confusion on not knowing who to trust, coz apparently, that rumoured son of his turns out to be true,” Hansol explains excitedly, and he looks straight into Jihoon’s eyes.

Jihoon could recognize that hint of spark of passion in them. Hansol always lights up when he talks about song lyrics and their context and Jihoon is honestly always in awe on how focused and deep Hansol can get into interpretations.

“So what happened then?” Jihoon asks with another prod to Hansol, this time his foot nudges against Hansol’s leg.

“Well I guess, in a way, this is his coming out song for his son?” Hansol continues unsure, seemingly creating his own interpretation of the song as he talks to Jihoon about it. “And I see that. But at the same time, everything sounds so resentful for him. Like he can’t believe it has reached this point where people attacked him for having a son. And sometimes, the song feels like a judgment on the way people take social media too much, where some people essentially live double lives through their socials?”

Jihoon oohs at that. “Wow, I didn’t think this kind of lyrical writing can exist?” he says as he thinks back to all the composition classes he’s had, eyes looking up, trying to recall he’d ever felt such rawness in him. He remembers being a good and dutiful student of the music and while he dearly loved it, his writing always seemed lacking to him because, maybe he only felt a sense of urgency in doing his lyrical compositions for school. The pressure from being under a deadline and having to maintain stellar grades for his scholarship never was a fruitful ground for experimentation in a formulaic school setting.

He is taken out of his reminiscing when he hears Hansol hum out a soft yeah and feels him shift back to face the ceiling again. There’s an uncomfortably tight feeling in Jihoon’s chest at the not close but quite proximity, Jihoon decides to just screw it and turn around to face Hansol.

The thick comforter that Hansol had wrapped around him earlier is now discarded and Jihoon can feel their skin touch. Jihoon, who is typically averse to skin-to-skin contact, thoughtlessly moves closer, his pants-clad right leg finds its home atop Hansol’s legs and his forehead falls onto Hansol’s upper arm.

“Yeah, it usually exists just in rap though, especially here in Korea,” Hansol acknowledges after a breath. If he was shocked at Jihoon’s sudden gesture, he doesn’t show it, instead, he moves his right arm a bit so Jihoon’s head doesn’t cut off the circulation. Jihoon adjusts a smidge and now he is right under Hansol’s right arm. Jihoon couldn’t bring himself to care so much.

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees. “We always end up talking about love, or encouragement, or breakups, or just falling in love, dugeun-dugeun and all that shit you know.”

Hansol barks out a laugh at that. “Dugeun-duguen and all that shit!”

“It’s true!” Jihoon says with a huff. “Sometimes, the PDs at the studio are always up on me for my lyrics. They don’t think I should be writing about things that can’t be relatable.”

“Aww, hyung!” Hansol says softly while pulling Jihoon closer to him. “Maybe you’re just weird!”

“You’re weirder!” Jihoon teases him. “But seriously, your brand of weird is something else, and sometimes I just want to borrow your brain for an hour!”

“Just an hour, hyung?” Hansol asks cheekily with a grin at Jihoon, and there Hansol goes again with invading Jihoon’s private space by having his face so close, Jihoon could notice the cracks in Hansol’s lips.

“Just an hour,” Jihoon confirms, mock distaste lacing his voice. “I think I can be clinically declared insane if I spend more than an hour in your head!”

Hansol only chuckles, but he lets up on imposing on Jihoon’s privacy and moves backwards. Drake’s Emotionless ends on a jazz-like piano arrangement and it lingers in the room, and for a moment everything is still.

“We should do this more often,” Hansol says as another soft song starts up. Light cowbell beats with an accompanying snare hat and a female voice talking about feelings fill the room.

“Hmm?” Jihoon hums, a bit confused. Don’t they do this on a weekly basis already? “What?”

“I meant this, talking about music, songs, in general,” Hansol explains as if it was obvious.

“Oh yeah,” Jihoon agrees slowly, ruminating and imagining the two of them hanging out like this again, listening and analyzing one of their shared interests and it suddenly feels like their high school music club all over again, but this time it’s solely for them.

“I did not realise how much I needed to talk about music like this, in such a non-judgmental space. Now that we’re talking about the lyrics...,” Jihoon trails off as he feels Hansol nod along to what he was saying.

Hansol’s agreement is reassuring and a part of him is relieved that now that he is back in Hansol’s life and vice versa, he would be able to find some sort of safe space on music with him. With that thought, Jihoon lets out a sigh, and steels himself for a vulnerability that he’s been feeling lately.

“I don’t want to burden you with my work issues, but I guess I needed this. I miss our music club. I miss just doing songs for fun, and to be honest, I miss writing songs with you.”

As close as they were positioned before, they become even closer when Hansol lays on his side and brings Jihoon into a loose hug. They’re essentially cuddling now, and normally, Jihoon would feel awkward about this kind of position, but maybe he needed this as much as Hansol needed his company.

“Hyung,” Hansol starts softly. There’s a slight crack to Hansol’s voice that Jihoon notices, but chooses to ignore, so he speaks again instead.

“Lately, I’ve been finding myself thinking of leaving the label,” Jihoon confides as he turns around in Hansol’s loose embrace and now he’s facing the other side of the studio, his face and his worries hidden from Hansol’s gaze.

“It’s not just the harsh lyric writing critiques that I get. No, I can handle that, you know me, Hansol, I am tough. But,” Jihoon pauses and he can feel Hansol hug him tighter and somehow, Jihoon finds the courage to continue. “But, it’s just exhausting, not being able to write myself out there. And I can’t do that because I’m essentially being paid to write for someone’s image, and maybe, I just can’t go into their heads enough to actually capture their feelings and that’s why I’m having a hard time.”

“I don’t know what to say to that, hyung,” Hansol confesses.

“It’s alright,” Jihoon says. “You don’t have to say anything.”

A soft, electronic piano and distorted trumpet starts playing and Jihoon recognizes it as Junik, one of the underground artists that he and Hansol bonded over lately. Over the heavy reverb of bass, Hansol buries his own worries deep inside him and focuses on Jihoon instead.

“Sometimes,” Jihoon whispers. “There’s a part of me that thinks these artists don’t deserve the lyrics I write, because these lyrics are my mind’s thoughts, and it’s like making someone read my diary in front of other people, and I understand why I get critiques, because these people don’t understand my intention.”

Jihoon turns back around to face Hansol and he immediately spots Hansol’s soft gaze. Hansol’s eyes are lidded and there’s a small lift to the corner of his lips, his hair is unkempt and wild on his head and suddenly Jihoon feels his gut drop. Jihoon is slightly nervous, but he holds Hansol’s steady gaze.

In the background, a steady bass beat with hollow xylophone samples goes on while Junik croons about rain and water, and Jihoon feels like he and Hansol are plunging deep into a dark pool in the night. It’s uncharted territory within a usually familiar place, it’s thrilling and worrying at the same time.

And as if running out of air from a deep dive, Hansol surfaces first, he ends up looking away, breaking eye contact, his eyes darting from Jihoon’s eyes downwards, and Hansol licks his lips and Jihoon is belatedly realizes that maybe, Hansol is staring at his lips.

And Jihoon feels a little uncomfortable and a little too hot on his neck. Suddenly, he wants to go back to that dark pool of uncertainty they were swimming in just moments earlier, and feel the imaginary water douse the warmth that he imagines is spreading throughout his entirety. He scoots back a bit to put some distance between them and awkwardly clears his throat.

And just like that, the waterlogged feeling disappears and they are both brought back to this instantaneous point in time where they are just two boys, who have too much going on in their heads.

The moon is high, silver light illumines Hansol’s side and the navy comforter. The blue lava lamp sat on the bed table near Jihoon plays shadows on Hansol’s face. And Jihoon is the opposite. Jihoon’s face is white underneath the moon’s beams. His blonde hair looks electric with the cerulean glow of the lava lamp against it. There’s a slightly larger gap between the two of them, but their hands touch and Jihoon’s legs remain Hansol’s. Jihoon feels like this position, this image, can be embroidered in the fabric of time and people would revel at it.

“Hyung,” Hansol says and his eyes snap back from Jihoon’s lips to his eyes. “Drake’s song. There’s a lyric there.”

“Oh yeah?” Jihoon asks, relaxing a bit, because the atmosphere just became a bit unbearable for a second there, and Hansol discussing lyrics is a surefire way to lessen the tension.

“I wasn’t hiding my kid from the world, I was hiding the world from my kid,” Hansol says in English then repeats it in Korean for Jihoon. Jihoon nods at it and gestures for him to continue.

“I felt that there are some things we would always want to hide from the world because we want to protect them,” Hansol muses. “And it’s the same for you isn’t it?”

Jihoon bobs his head in agreement. “Yes, I get that.”

“There’s so many times I want to hide from the world, you know, hyung,” Hansol reveals with a shuddering breath. “I’ve always hidden so many things, out of protection? Preservation? Being scared of the world. Just fearing.”

“What is it Hansol?” Jihoon asks worriedly, a little concerned that maybe Hansol isn’t referring to song writing now and it’s something much more serious.

Jihoon sees Hansol shake his head slightly and it looks like Hansol is battling himself. He thinks back to the time he met Hansol as a home-schooled kid who has always been uncomfortable with acting overly Americanized and swears that if someone bothers Hansol again on that front or even stare at Hansol far too long for simple admiration, he will start hunting down people.

Jihoon is pulled out from his plotting as he watches Hansol take a big, deep breath, squeeze his eyes momentarily and purse his lips as if willing himself to push through whatever he wants to say. In the background, a female voice describes the color blue in various situations.

“I never even had the chance to tell my ma and pa,” Hansol breathes out after a long internal deliberation, voice pained and heavy with emotion, eyes sheepishly shifting away from Jihoon’s searching stare.

It is the rawest Jihoon has seen and heard of Hansol tonight, so even if he was the one who put the distance between them, Jihoon moves closer. Well, he attempts to move closer to Hansol but it fails when Hansol holds him strongly in front of him, Hansol’s arms locking him out of cuddling and comforting distance.

“What?” Jihoon could only stutter confusedly.

“I’m gay, hyung.”

* * *

Jihoon is floored. His right leg lays limply on Hansol’s leg and he briefly wonders if moving his leg away would be taken negatively by Hansol. He doesn’t know what to think. Three letters flash in his mind and he looks at Hansol who was chewing on his lips and looking at everything else but Jihoon, and Jihoon, for the life of him, cannot understand what is happening. Everything seems muted yet saturated at the same time. Is it just him, or is the room suddenly awash in light? The revelation seems to have opened a floodlight in Jihoon’s mind and now he’s seeing Hansol differently all at once.

“You’re gay?” Jihoon hears himself ask incredulously and he immediately wishes he could take back those words because Hansol recoils so quickly away from him and the warmth is gone. There are no legs underneath Jihoon’s pant-clad right foot, and the searing heat of Hansol’s palms is slowly dissipating from his shoulders.

“You could leave, if you want to,” Hansol mutters in a small, wounded voice as he pulls his comforter back up, suddenly feeling the need to put more barriers between him and Jihoon who was looking at him like he’s an alien.

Jihoon tsks and immediately grabs Hansol’s comforter away. There’s a resolute look in Jihoon’s eyes that spell refusal and Hansol’s protests at the comforter being hauled away from him dies on his lips. Hansol is not sure what is happening and he is even more confused when Jihoon advances on him and grabs all of his lanky body and pulls him flush against Jihoon’s chest. Hansol feels slightly scared, and a lot confused.

“I’m sorry, hyung didn’t mean to sound so judgmental,” Jihoon says as he shifts Hansol on his chest. Jihoon is slumps against the headboard with Hansol awkwardly cradled to his chest. Hansol is stiff as a board, but he relaxes slowly and surely when Jihoon pats him on his shoulder. It’s a cumbersome gesture but Hansol is oddly comforted.

“It’s ok,” Hansol mumbles shyly to Jihoon’s chest. It’s the first time he’s ever said he’s gay out loud, and Hansol thinks it’s not the smartest idea to admit such a thing to a person he’s had some questionable feelings for in his youth, but something told him it was the right time to come out. Plus, there was also a part of him chiding him for not even coming out to his parents, so maybe, with the way Jihoon and him were just a few moments ago, his body just betrayed him and proceeded to let go of one of the heaviest things he’s been feeling these past few days.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Jihoon says, breaking Hansol’s reverie. “But I accept you, and you know, I will always be here for you.”

Hansol looks up to Jihoon, surprise written on his face and when Jihoon looks down at him, Jihoon could only raise an eyebrow in askance. “What is it?”

“I,” Hansol starts, but pauses to collect his thoughts. “Are you not mad at me?”

Jihoon pauses, but eventually shakes his head slowly. He’s still not sure how to feel about this, but mad is not one of the emotions that come to mind. “No, Hansol, why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know,” Hansol admits and he hasn’t felt any younger and any more naive than at this time. “I, just like I said, you’re the first person to know. Sof doesn’t know either.”

“I can’t pretend I understand what you’re going through, but the fact remains, Sol, I’m here for you,” Jihoon emphasizes, and with that, the awkward shoulder pats drop and turn into the familiar threading of fingers through Hansol’s mussed hair.

* * *

Jihoon is a big-bold faced liar. He can’t believe he just told Hansol straight to his face that he doesn’t understand what Hansol was going through. Sure, Hansol’s parents’ deaths, and his imposed distance from Hangyeol are not relatable for Jihoon, but the struggle of being gay is. Well, at this point, Jihoon is still unsure about that, but the fact that he’s considering it is proof enough that he’s struggling.

“Idiot,” Jihoon huffs out as he digs his head deeper into the borrowed pillow. It’s a bit fluffier than what he’s used to and he blames it for his current state insomnolence. He tries to drown out Hansol’s soft snores behind him and despite the cold in Hansol’s studio, he moves out of their shared duvet. Hansol’s heat and distance is making his mind foggy and awake at the same time.

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed together, Jihoon repeats in his head. This should be fine, he thinks as he tries to focus on the sounds coming out from Hansol’s speaker. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s already late at night, or he’s just too much out of it, but there’s a certain emptiness to the song that’s currently playing. Since he couldn’t sleep anyway, he decides to get out of bed.

Jihoon smiles slightly, shaking his head gently at seeing Hansol shuffling slightly, seemingly scrambling for the lost body warmth. He puts Hansol’s slippers on and drags his feet in the direction of Hansol’s phone deck and inspects the current playlist. It was off Hansol’s Spotify, a playlist titled Retro Nap and it had a Hansol’s dated family photo as its playlist cover. The Old Songs by a guy called David Pomeranz plays and it’s a bare arrangement of piano and simple drum beats supporting sweet vocals, and it’s the first time Jihoon has heard of this song. He scrolls through the completely English playlist and when nothing catches his eyes, he returns the phone on the deck.

Should I try and go back to sleep? Jihoon thinks tiredly, looking forlornly at the shared bed. His body decides for him before he can register it since he starts ambling towards it. He pulls up the comforter that is securely cocooned around the snoring Hansol; ignoring the thudding of his chest and favoring his desire for warmth instead, he sits down next to Hansol’s prone figure.

Maybe, I am gay too, the thought runs freely in Jihoon’s head while he watches over his sleeping friend. He tries his absolute best not to think of how creepy it is of him to be watching Hansol like this.

“I could be gay,” Jihoon thoughtfully mutters as his eyes trace over Hansol’s features. The strong nose, long lashes and sharp features Hansol sports reminds him of a new actor under his company’s label and if his cheeks warm at the image, no one will be the wiser.

* * *

Jihoon wakes up to the sound of hushed conversation. There’s a warm glow behind his eyelids and he briefly wonders what time is it. When his eyes open, he finds the curtains in Hansol’s studio shut tight, and an orange light emanating from the kitchenette’s exhaust hood. Underneath it, Hansol stood with his sister Hangyeol and now that Jihoon is a little more awake, the smell of olive oil, eggs, and parsley and a familiar frying sound greets his senses.

“Oppa,” Hangyeol hisses at Hansol. “You’re gonna over fill the roll on this side!”

“Hyung is sleeping! Oh god, Sof, keep the shrieking down,” Hansol reprimands her as he continues to tilt the pan backwards. “Pour one again.”

“You’re hopeless,” Hangyeol comments as she obediently pours down a portion of the egg mixture onto the pan. She stops when her brother juts the pan back on the stove top and she huffs exasperatedly at him. She places the bowl carefully on the counter next to her and turns around to mouth off at her unimaginative brother, tapping her foot impatiently when a movement catches her sight.

“Oh, Jihoon oppa! You’re up,” Hangyeol greets Jihoon with a smile.

Jihoon, now caught awake, smiles back at her. He sits up on the bed and swings his legs over, and is surprised to find Hansol’s slippers under his feet. His eyes dart to Hansol who was focusing on whatever it was that he was doing and Jihoon finds him bare foot.

“Hansol! Your slippers are here,” Jihoon says as he puts his feet on top of Hansol’s slippers and starts dragging them towards the two in the small kitchenette.

Hansol breaks away from his focused cooking and immediately faces Jihoon who putters adorably towards them. He doesn’t even bother suppressing a gummy smile at Jihoon’s cuteness.

As if reading his mind, Jihoon immediately frowns at Hansol and kicks the slippers away. Hansol bursts out a belly-deep laugh and soon Hangyeol’s giggles join in. Jihoon rolls his eyes at them and nudges Hansol’s slippers to its owner. He shuffles over closer, now with his feet bare on the dark tiles of the studio.

“What the?” he says as he peeks over Hangyeol’s shoulder who has since then taken over Hansol’s cooking and stopped giggling over him.

“I tried my best!” Hansol protests with a pout. Hangyeol snickers derisively behind him, and Jihoon can’t help but chuckle in agreement.

“Plus, the slippers are for you, remind me to buy you a pair for when you stay over,” Hansol adds as he pushes back the slippers that Jihoon attempted to return.

Jihoon only looks at Hansol disbelievingly. When Hansol doesn’t say anything, he relents and slips his feet inside and he feels just a little bit warmer now that his feet can’t feel the unnatural coolness of the tiles.

“Awwwwwwwww, that’s too cute! I wish oppa would buy me slippers for here too,” Hangyeol coos at them, and at that Jihoon shoots Hansol another questioning look to which Hansol only shrugs in response.

Thankfully, Hangyeol doesn’t notice the exchange between the two since she goes back to salvaging Hansol’s omelet. She pours the remaining egg mixture on the pan and huffs about idiot brothers. “Hm, next time, I’ll be bringing my slippers and my toothbrush here too!”

Hansol can only shake his head. So much for living independently.

* * *

Despite the dilapidated nature of Hansol and Hangyeol’s omelet, breakfast was nice and filling. Jihoon didn’t realise how hungry he was until he was on his third bowl of rice, and fourth helping of last night’s untouched fried chicken. Hansol is done with his food and is now sipping on a hot cup of instant coffee, having eaten so little compared to Jihoon’s share. Hangyeol is inside the bathroom, showering or brushing her teeth, Jihoon doesn’t really know.

“So,” Jihoon starts as soon as he swallows his last spoonful of rice. “Did you tell Sof yet?”

Hansol almost chokes on his coffee and the hot liquid must have scalded him because he ends up panting and beating his chest, his coffee cup slams precariously on the edge of the table but Jihoon grabs it before it is upended. Jihoon would feel sorry at the state he caused Hansol to be in, but he is not that kind of person, so instead, he takes a sip from Hansol’s coffee cup as he watches Hansol cough up the discomfort of being scalded.

“Hyung!” Hansol berates as soon as he finds his voice.

“What?” Jihoon answers back with a raised eyebrow.

Hansol slumps in a mix of defeat and exhaustion and Jihoon would typically fret over in concern for Hansol’s feelings and mental state, but this time, he lets it pass and allows Hansol to ruminate over last night’s revelations and today’s plan of action.

“I haven’t said anything to her yet,” Hansol admits with a bow of his head.

Jihoon is yet again, struck at how innocent and troubled Hansol looks so he settles down the cup of coffee and reaches for Hansol’s hand.

“Hansol,” he began. “Sooner or later you will need to tell her.”

“I know, I know, trust me I know,” Hansol repeats, to himself or to Jihoon, it doesn’t really matter. “It’s just, can I take time first? Plus, I don’t want her to worry about this.”

Jihoon nods reassuringly and absently rubs his thumb over Hansol’s hand. “Yeah, alright, I’m not pushing you.”

“I’ll tell her,” Hansol promises as he looks up at Jihoon. “Maybe not now, but I will tell her. She’s so important to me, hyung, and I’m scared that maybe…”

Jihoon nods again in understanding and Hansol doesn’t bother continuing to voice out his worries because at Jihoon’s nods, Hansol realizes that Jihoon is someone who would always understand without the need for too many words.

Jihoon stands up abruptly from his seat and moves to hug Hansol. At his height, Hansol comes up to underneath his chin and he can feel Hansol’s soft puffs of breath on his neck and it is the most intimate thing he’s ever felt with another person in such a long time and at that instant, Jihoon vows he will be there for this guy, always. He rubs Hansol’s back comfortingly, repeating promises of supporting him always and giving him courage.

“I promise hyung,” Hansol croaks out. “I’ll tell her, someday, I’ll tell Sof…”

Jihoon only coos in response.

They don’t notice the door to Hansol’s bathroom open and out walked Hangyeol, freshly showered and rubbing a towel on her damp hair.

“Tell me what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments help! If you think there's some awkwardness in the scenes that you'd like to discuss, feel free to school me.
> 
> Also, follow me @chweleesoz if you wanna talk about fics and SVT in general.


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